


Perks

by judarchan



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Felching, M/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Rimming, bottom johnny, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judarchan/pseuds/judarchan
Summary: Figure skating has never held particular interest to you.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krystal_Tsuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystal_Tsuki/gifts).



> ^^^^ It's all her fault tbh  
> But for real, thank you bby for introducing me to this man, you have no idea how much he's changed my life ♥
> 
> Also, this thing exists because I've noticed a severe lack of fics praising Johnny's GLORIOUS ass, and I thought I'd fix that~
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything besides my own writing nor do I make any money off of my stories - all rights belong to the respective owners
> 
> *This is a work of fiction - I mean no disrespect to the person portrayed in this story*
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated!

 ................................................................................................

 

Figure skating has never held particular interest to you. As a swimmer, you like your pool water better when it's not frozen over, thank you very much. Not to mention all those jumps and whirls and spins, the deadly blades and the inevitably slippery, treacherous ground.

Definitely not your idea of fun.

But, as you have found out tonight, there is one thing concerning said sport that's undeniably very appealing indeed: having Johnny Weir spread out on your hotel bed, naked and panting, a whimper escaping that red, red mouth every time you drive your hips forward.

It's a marvellous but quite peculiar sight - until now you never would have imagined something like this was bound to happen.

Of course, you have met the guy before - a couple of times, briefly, back when you were both still competing and for some fateful coincidence you were attending the same event at the same time - but besides respecting him as an athlete and passingly noticing he's rather easy on the eyes, nothing else was stirred inside you.

Yet tonight, when your casual stroll brought you to Bryant Park, you couldn't help but stop and mingle among the many people who were attending the Winter Village Inauguration. Kimberly Nichole's voice was accompanying Johnny's gentle glides on the rink, his black skirt flowing like a ghost about his legs with every step. He skimmed on the ice quietly and gracefully, blades barely making a sound even when landing a jump.

He was, in a word, stunning.

When, or how, he spotted you in the midst of that crowd is still obscure to you, but a few performances later, after the ribbon-cutting ceremony was over and most of the attendees had dispersed, he was standing right in front of you, his skates in his hand and a pleasant smile tugging his lips.

The evening was getting chilly and Starbucks seemed an excellent suggestion.

You can't recall the exact moment in which Johnny's eyes took on a wicked glint, shining playfully above the steam rising from his spiced latte, but what you _do_ remember is the thud his back made when you pushed him up against your hotel room's door as soon as you got inside.

The plushness of his mouth on yours.

His approving hum as you undressed both of you on your way to the bed.

The smell of his hair, his skin.

His smooth, shapely thighs parting without hesitation.

The warm, giving tightness of his entrance around your slick fingers and the subtle shiver that ran through him when you reached deeper.

The way he entreated you to _forget about the damn condom and just fuck him already_.

 --

Johnny's breathing is getting ragged now. A hand comes up to claw at your shoulder blade, a low, desperate noise leaving his lips, and you can't help but bury your face in his neck and thrust into him harder.

He takes you so well, his insides accommodating your girth as if that's all he ever does and clenching deliciously each time you slide back out in an easy, spontaneous rhythm.

You're not entirely surprised to be already embarrassingly close, yet you're determined not to let this end anytime soon - or ever, were that a possibility.

You take a quieting breath and the unique mixture of expensive cologne, sweat, and flowery shampoo hits your nose when you inhale. Downy black hair and the peachy hues of the hotel duvet are the sight you're met with when you open your eyes and straighten a little, slowing your movements down and regaining a bit of control over yourself.

You want to make this good.

Johnny voices his displeasure by tightening the grip his ankles have on your loins, your name echoing brokenly in your ears. Still, you cant your hips as unhurriedly as you can, smirking when his fine brows furrow and an eyelid slits open to reveal his annoyed glare.

He's so pretty.

All long lashes, rosy cheeks and glistening lips.

 _So pretty_.

He says nothing, but you can clearly see a hand sneak down between your stomachs and reach for his neglected length. It's just as perfect as the rest of his body - beautifully proportioned, flushed to just the right shade, a steady leak of moisture to complete the view.

This comeliness is all but unsettling, really.

He's almost closed his fingers around himself when a mischievous idea strikes your mind, and half a second later you're grabbing Johnny's slender wrists firmly and pinning them up on each side of his face.

A startled instant passes before Johnny looks up at you, an amused glint showing in his glazed over eyes.

"Kinky~" He smirks, "I never would have pegged you for that kind of guy."

It's ironic because, truth to be told, neither would have you.

It's all his fault, though.

There's something about him, in the way he talks and moves and holds himself. In the way he manages to lace with suggestive lewdness that seemingly innocent expression he always wears.

A godless angel begging to be defiled.

You feel that admitting you were just acting on impulse would undermine your validity, so you quickly make the best choice you can think of: playing along.

"If you can still talk it means I'm not fucking you hard enough." You punctuate the last word by setting a thorough pace that leaves him visibly breathless, fists clenching futilely around nothing.

 _Perfect_.

You're gripping his wrists so tightly you can clearly feel his pulse pound against your palms, but you can't bring yourself to let go. He doesn't resist at all though - he simply angles his pelvis higher and _takes_ it, and you'd be damned if that isn't the hottest thing you've ever seen.

A throaty moan makes its way past your lips and coalesces with Johnny's low whimpers in a marvellously decadent chorus as you crash your mouth on his in a mess of teeth and tongues. He's already a trembling mess, wetness shining at the corners of his eyes, and honestly you can't recall if you ever had a lover that cried actual tears of pleasure.

It's intriguing, how sensitive and responsive he is.

His thighs fall open at your sides, unable to cooperate any longer, and a glance down is enough to see he's close, twitching helplessly against his quivering stomach with every roll of your hips. You're indeed not far behind, the familiar heat pooling at your groin ready to take you over.

But finishing like this would be a shame.

It takes all your willpower to slow down and slip out of him, your grasp on his wrists loosening so that you can flip him over. Johnny makes a small noise of protest, but as soon as he realises what you have in mind he positions himself instantly, face to the pillow and legs splayed.

He purposefully gives you a stupendous, unhindered view of that glorious ass, and for a long moment you simply savour the image he makes, trying your best to memorise every curve and slope.

It's definitely gonna keep you company for quite a few lonely nights.

"C'mon..." His voice has a desperate edge to it, spine arching as if to make the point clearer.

It's really, _really_ difficult to resist him.

Before you know it your hands are running along his sides, gripping him by the hips and aligning yourself, sinking into him to the hilt in one swift move. You hold him down firmly, giving in to the sublime friction on your aching length as he meets your steady thrusts with short, erratic movements, rubbing himself against the duvet, nails digging in the mattress.

His muffled, winded moan of your name makes you want to say something, some kind of snarky remark, anything to give the illusion that you're still in control of the situation - but it's far too easy to lose yourself in the silky, wet heat of Johnny's body, and soon you're rutting into him mindlessly.

Everything is hot and slippery and blissful, and it's both unexpected and predictable the rapidity with which your climax hits you. The blinding whiteness that shrouds your being makes keeping your eyes focused a demanding but worthy feat - missing the way the muscles in Johnny's shoulders strain as he spasms around you in the throes of his own orgasm would be unforgivably unfortunate. You snap your hips forward, surrendering to the absolute delight that's clouding your senses and forcing a growled sob from you.

Johnny stifles his cries in the pillow, forearms and knees unsteady under his writhing while he spends himself on the bedspread.

Much too soon, it's all over.

An encompassing quiet, made only of your combined breathing and a couple residual whimpers, falls upon your exhausted bodies when you slide out of him slowly, carefully.

He mewls, his legs giving out at last, but otherwise stays exactly where he is, his chest heaving as you collapse beside him.

You can see his face from here, and he's even more beautiful now, his flushed cheeks and sated expression an incomparable sight.

A sinful angel, indeed.

Your nerves are still tingling when you open your eyes and you're met with the sinuous expanse of Johnny's back. A small, intent smile graces your features. No amount of weariness could refrain you from leaning in enough to mouth his damp skin and trace your lips downwards, until your chin bumps against the firm, full curve of his ass.

It's not everyday you get to admire such a view, and for a while you just _stare_ , unabashedly.

"I know you're thinking about something dirty~" He says wittingly, not bothering to move an inch.

He's right.

You're only a man after all, and you highly doubt any human being could resist the temptation given the opportunity.

"Can you blame me?"

He huffs a laugh in response, but doesn't protest when your hungry hands spread apart the mounds of soft flesh to reveal his well-used entrance. Even _that_ is infuriatingly pretty, pink and glistening and gaping in an obscenely exquisite manner.

It's unfair.

And what makes it even worse is that Johnny doesn't have an ounce of shame - he just stays there, arching his spine a little, as if _offering_ himself. Or daring you to go through with what you clearly have in mind.

His hole gives a lazy twitch and a dawdling dribble of come trickles out of him to run down the the smooth swell of his sac. It's so wondrously, deliberately indecent, and suddenly the urge to taste yourself like this is overwhelming.

To hell with everything.

You bend down and give a tentative lick. The bitter taste of semen and the flavourless, sticky aroma of the lube are not unpleasant at all, surprisingly.

Every swipe of your tongue gets bolder, circling around and dipping further to reach past the sensitive, puffy rim. Johnny squirms, instinctively rocking against your face as his muscles clench and release. Inside he's silky and lax, the tang of your come mixing with the distinctive raw feeling of the thin, moist skin there.

You swallow earnestly before withdrawing just enough to relish in how beautifully loose his entrance is. He shivers, mumbling something you can't quite catch, and the thought that you did it - that he's like this because of you - makes you wish you could fuck him all over again, ruin him, make him forget everything but your name.

If only refractory period wasn't a thing.

With a mental sigh you pull away briefly, taking a quick look at the superb work you've done and then ducking down again, lapping up the semen that's gushed out in the mean time. You swirl and delve your tongue back inside rigorously, until the tender flesh glisters solely with your saliva.

Giving his ass a final, satisfying squeeze, you then make your way up to his lower back, leaving a languid trail of kisses in your wake.

Exhaustion is really catching up on you now - it shows in the way your boneless limbs struggle to support your weight as you move towards the headboard, your lips following the curve of Johnny's spine, the nape of his neck, his cheek.

He makes turning to his side and facing you look like an immense effort, his eyelids idly fluttering open to reveal a much duskier gaze than what you remembered.

"They tend to get darker when I'm tired." He says in a low, quiet voice, sensing your thoughts.

It's a tad risible to be honest, akin to a line from some stereotypical romance novel, yet somehow he makes it sound like the most erotic thing in the world.

"You're pretty either way." You reply, not really sure what to say. You're not exactly good with pillow talk, and the fact that you can't decide whether you want to get dressed and grab dinner or pass out for a few decades renders it even more difficult.

Johnny, on the other hand, seems totally at ease as he swings a leg over your hips and inches closer, moving away from the sticky mess on the duvet.

He tips his head up to press a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"Remind me to take men to get Starbucks more often~" His grin when he says this is contagious.

 

Fin ♥

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- people, please use condoms irl! -


End file.
